When my husband and I moved into our house on Beacon Hill, I waited eagerly for neighbors to descend upon us with cakes and greetings. That’s the way we greeted new neighbors in the Midwest, where I grew up, and I thought that’s the way everyone did it. Not in Seattle. At least not in our eclectic neighborhood, where admittedly the prevalence of immigrants creates some language and cultural barriers. It was about a year before we got the first knock on our door from our next door neighbor, a Vietnamese woman who was holding a kind of open house for a daughter who was getting married. Otherwise, no cakes, no greetings, no interest, seemingly, in new neighbors moving onto the block. We’ve gotten to know a number of neighbors since then. But I’ve never seen such friendliness and openness as I have in the last week as the snow has gotten us all out on the street, shoveling, sledding or just taking a look around. I’ve found out people’s names and occupations for the first time. We’ve helped each other shovel, pushed stuck cars and lent sleds. We had a new neighbor over for dinner last night.That paradoxical sunniness swept in by the cold continued this morning in Seattle at large. Down at the bus stop, one woman bummed a cigarette. We all commiserated as several jammed pack busses passed us by. And once we made it on, people made room for others to sit down. Then they did something that doesn’t normally happen among strangers in Seattle: made conversation.